


Dance With Your Ghost

by debarouchi



Series: Handwritten [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunk Stiles, First Time, M/M, Possessive Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debarouchi/pseuds/debarouchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of a bar, with some help from Lydia, Derek comes to the sudden conclusion that he can actually have what he wants. Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Your Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small ficlet written in the early hours of the morning. 
> 
> Fic title and lyrics from The Gaslight Anthem's song, 45. 
> 
> I don't own the characters, or the song, just the sleep deprivation that let me write this story. I apologize for any typos.

Stiles moves around the dance floor and Derek can’t drag his eyes away. The sway of Stiles’ hips makes him just _want_.

The music gets louder and Derek unconsciously whispers the words to Stiles’ favorite song of the moment by _The Gaslight Anthem_. 

_Oh, but that ain’t the way, I can’t move on and I can’t stay the same_

“If you don’t make him yours, someone else will.” 

Derek is ashamed to admit that he jumps; a crowd of people in such a small space always throws his senses off and his prime distraction is bumping and grinding against another guy. He forgives himself just this once for letting Lydia sneak up on him. 

“He’ll never be mine,” Derek says, almost angrily. The anger, like always is directed at himself and he knows Lydia will understand that. 

Lydia steps in close, and puts her hand to Derek’s chest. She waits until Stiles is glaring across at her. “Are you sure about that?” 

Derek looks back, staring at Stiles until he feels the weight press harder against his chest, then he looks down. Lydia’s pale hand is bright against the darkness of his black henley. 

“He already is yours,” Lydia whispers, eyes on Stiles’ as he approaches. “You’re the only one that doesn’t know.” 

“Derek.” 

Stiles suddenly stands before him in Lydia’s place, face flushed with alcohol and exertion. Derek glances to the side and sees Lydia disappearing out the door. He feels a hand on his chest, in exactly the same place as Lydia’s had rested. The possessive touch nearly floors him and when Stiles twists his fingers into the fabric, he’s helpless to do anything but lean forward to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “Lydia says you’re mine.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

Derek leans down a little and fits his hands to Stiles’ hips. He nuzzles the sensitive skin of Stiles’ neck, leaving damp kisses. “I want to put you against the wall, tip your head back and make you moan while I scent you.” 

Stiles’ shivers. His eyes go glassy and he steps even closer. “Can you smell me now?” 

“I can smell your flushed skin. I can smell how much you want me,” Derek murmurs. 

“Jesus,” Stiles’ breathes. He closes his eyes and tips his head back a little. “Do it.” 

Derek reaches down and grips Stiles’ thighs, encouraging him to lock them around his waist. When he has Stiles securely in his arms he takes one step and turns them to press Stiles’ against the wall. “Is this what you want?” 

“Yes,” Stiles says huskily. He bites his lip and cups Derek’s nape. “Kiss me.” 

The need in Stiles’ voice sends a pulse of heat, of want through him. He ducks his head to kiss Stiles’ in a simple press of lips to lips before Stiles’ cards his fingers into Derek’s hair and simply pulls him in closer.

People around them, and the noise of the bar fades into the distance as Derek and Stiles lose themselves in each other. 

Stiles only pulls away when he can no longer breathe. He slumps back against the wall and breathes heavily, eyes switching between Derek’s swollen mouth and his darkened gaze. 

Derek closes his eyes, fighting the instinctive shift. He groans when he feels Stiles’ tracing the tips of his canines. “Don’t,” he breathes. 

“Because you don’t want me to touch or...”

“Because I’m fighting the need to sink my teeth into your skin.” 

“Oh. God,” Stiles groans. “Take me home, Derek.” 

“Are you sure?” Derek presses an open mouth kiss to Stiles’ lips. “I won’t share you.” 

“I know. The same goes for you.”

“How long? Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Derek demands. He strokes his fingertips over Stiles’ jaw, fascinated. 

“Since we met,” Stiles says immediately. “Six years ago.” 

“You were only sixteen,” Derek mutters. 

“I’m not sixteen anymore.” 

Derek closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Good. Or I’d be going to hell.” 

Stiles smiles. He nips Derek’s lower lip. “Less talking. More kissing.”

Derek shakes his head sharply. “I need more than that.” 

“Scott and Allison are at our apartment. Take me home with you,” Stiles repeats. 

“Okay, okay,” Derek mumbles. He steps back and lets Stiles’ gently fall to his feet. Someone near by moans and Derek turns his head, hands still on Stiles’. 

A young man is standing near them, eyes blown wide and mouth open. Derek sneers at him and tightens his grip on Stiles. 

“Come on,” Derek growls. 

Stiles grins and blows the guy a kiss as Derek moves them through the crowd.  
“Stiles,” Derek says warningly. He stops suddenly and cups Stiles’ cheek. “No looking at other guys like that, except me.” 

Stiles smiles, slow and dirty. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”


End file.
